Skip to main content

Advice From Parents

“Remember, you’re not coming home as a teenager, you’re coming home as a young man.” – My Mom
“Drink a beer and let it go.”- My Dad

Advice can be haphazard, chaotically scrambling your mind as it struggles to wrap itself around the supposed profundity of what you just heard or read. The best advice in this situation is simply that most advice should be eschewed because the source it comes from is in no place to bee giving it. This is the reason why I have such disdain for the pseudo-intellectual. We’re both in our mid-20’s, and barring a cataclysmic catastrophe they somehow lives through, they have no right to lecture me on politics, the existence of God (If we cant see him, then where is he man? In my fucking fist, now shut your fucking mouth), or any other hot button issue permeating popular culture today. If you’re one of those types reading this, scowling at what you perceive as ignorance, do us both a favor and choke on your soy latte. If that doesn’t do the trick, coil your oversized scarf around your neck a little tighter. If the asphyxiation doesn’t off you, heat stroke will, considering its nearly Summer in Southern California. Asshole. Certain advice however, is worth its weight in pure gold bullion. Its distilled down to its core and its purity and effectiveness are time-tested, battle worn and unmatched.

 My Mother and Father are prime examples. My Mom is my angel, holding the eternal flame of life alight in her hands. Endlessly vigilant, she waits until the passion burning in the furnace of my soul is about to die out, before stepping in and reigniting it brilliantly. Her teachings are a glass of cool iced tea, lightly hinted with lemon and mint, brewed in the sun, on a day where the life has been beaten out of me by work and the days toil. They’re a cup of hot chocolate when the bitter winds of an impartial world have all but torn the flesh from my bones, and my resilience has iced over, exposing my fragility for all to see. She’s the warmth that envelops me when Im at my worst, reminding me to never lose faith, providing the hope that sustains me. My Father stands alone. When I’m entrenched in battle and struggle with the world accosting me from all sides, rather than rescuing me, he emboldens me. If the heat of my Mother’s heart keeps mine from icing over, my Father’s love reinforces it with iron, reminding me of the strength inherent inside it. Problems I would waste logic on, purely emotional in nature, are swatted away easily like gnats in his eyes, and so through mine. Two very different forms of love, but both effective, both running through my veins because of the vessel they work daily to power.

If the world itself is the greatest teacher, then I must admit that I’ve been an underachieving student. Ive made the same mistakes repeatedly, banging my head against the wall furiously, unable to tear my eyes from the ground to behold the sky. Let experience guide you, as long as the source is reputable. You cant afford otherwise in a world that wouldn’t flinch to kill you, and would remained unmoved if it noticed your absence. Maybe Ive been on my own too long and need to be more trusting. Or not, and I don’t care either way. Keep your knives sharp, your tongue sharper, your knuckles callused, and your heart more still. Words to live by. Now live.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My Return To The Field

How often must I remain here? I must have died unexpectedly, and my wandering spirit, aura thick with malevolence and anguish, refuses to acknowledge my own death. Indeed, I have become a ghost, cursed to haunt diners, coffeeshops, bars and beaches, pen brandished and book unsheathed. I've grown so distant from others that Im more statue than Man, yet where this separation once stung painfully, it now soothes reassuringly. Lumped in with a generation of "men" with testosterone levels lower than a woman's would be 30 years ago, and forced to make due with "women" that proudly proclaim themselves sluts and will actually attempt to fistfight men if they are ignored and eschewed, as they should be, my sentiment is clear. I want no part of this generation. It's filthy and degraded.

You could say I'm living a daydream right now, a fantasy granted the breath of life by divine providence. How many shifts at work have I frittered away contemplating the perf…

Shameless IG Plug

https://www.instagram.com/p/BjCacWplX6FygVNS5qOdcWnQRGLOPC3DlvI18o0/

We exist in a world where it seems every skill, talent or gift, no matter how esoteric or seemingly inapplicable, can, through the bittersweet, pyrrhic blessing of social media, be monetized, commodified and capitalized upon. I harbor no unrealistic goals, because realism has become hyperreal. I live a simple life, one that appears to have placed me at odds with the world's status quo. Good, fuck them. Take happiness where you can grasp and steal it, whether it's by drinking overpowering, ironically cheap beer with great friends, screaming obscenities at the top of your lungs for the shock value, or doing feats of strength on public benches. In my case, everything is words and handstands. The rest is irrelevant. Forever flawed. Forever rebellious.

Beacon Of Light In The Darkness

Beacon Of Light In The Darkness




For too long I've harbored the one-sided shadows of former relationships. Torturous, rapid bombardments of perceived slights and ridiculous thought crimes. I've stifled my own opinions on everything from politics to religion, the two classic hot button issues, paragons of ostracization and dogmatic pollution.

The ghosts of the past are insidious and seductive, causing me to view them through rose-colored glasses for a formerly indeterminate amount of time. Yet now, in the absence of that old, familiar love, the grip of nostalgic fantasy has been loosened as my naivete is strangled by harsh reality.

Gasping for breath, it attacks me with a battalion of its best memories, a company of incomparable moments, countless divisions of dreams rendered dead by inaction and hatred. In the end, we all die alone. In those final, fleeting hours, we'll be surrounded by a devoted, compassionate family if were lucky, holding and pumping our aching, callouse…